Comments:
For Kish/Scarimor who wanted a Sam-torture scenario, with many thanks
to Maggie for the beta

Disclaimers:
The characters mentioned in this story are the
property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the
Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series
STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the
sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film
Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I
Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an
infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment.
All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the
sole property of the author.

Operation
Montezuma

The
United States Military Code of Conduct

Article
I

I
am an American, fighting in

the
forces which guard my

country
and our way of life. I

am
prepared to give my life in

their
defense.

--------------------------------------

She
woke to a pounding headache and the sticky feel of blood trickling
down her face. Somewhere off to her right someone was groaning.
"Janet?" she whispered.

The
sharp, tinkling sound of broken glass spoke of movement nearby.
Vaguely she remembered a bright flash and the sound of windows
breaking. The bitter smell of smoke assaulted her nose.

"Sam?"
It was Janet's voice, weak, but alive. "What happened?"

"Don'
know… 'Splosion?" Her words were as blurred as her thoughts.

Another
groan sounded in the direction of the door. One of the patients, or
Lt. Wang?

Suddenly
the floor shuddered, and bits of mortar rained down from the ceiling.
Another explosive "boom" thundered, sending the remains of
shattered glass panes flying. Detarian architecture was light and
airy, consistently featuring large, stained-glass windows, a terrible
combination when it came to withstanding blast pressure waves.

The
piercing wail of a woman broke the silence outside, followed by
shouts of panic. "Attack," she guessed, trying to force her eyes
open. The Detarians didn't have gas pipelines or chemical storage
units that might cause multiple explosions. Certainly, they hadn't
seen anything that might blow up near the clinic. "Someone's
attacking the capitol…"

"I
should have known that this wouldn't be an easy mission," Janet
groaned. "Anything involving a member of SG-1 and four marines on
their first off-world mission was bound to go south."

Sam
smiled despite herself. "Any mission named Operation Montezuma was
bound to go down the toilet," she corrected, trying to wipe the
blood from her eyes so she could see.

Towards
her feet, she heard someone chuckling feebly. That had to be Captain
Biles.

"You
okay, Biles?"

"Yes,
Ma'am," the senior medic drawled in her slight southern accent.
"Just got knocked off my feet by the blast."

"DeGeorge?
Andersen? Verhalen? Ogden?"

No
response.

A
hand pressed against her head, stinging. "Bo's dead, Ma'am,"
Biles said softly. Bo Andersen had been standing between Sam and the
window administering a shot to a patient. If Bo was dead, he'd
probably saved her life from flying glass.

Janet
swore while Sam tried to bat Biles' hand away from her forehead.

"I'm
here," a voice mumbled from the back of the room, and Sam
belatedly identified it as belonging to a shaken Verhalen. "Jesus
Christ, what the hell happened?" the marine asked.

"Explosion,"
Wang answered. "These two Detarians are dead, too."

"Lara,
wake up," Janet said to her medic, and Sam hoped that DeGeorge
was okay.

"Someone
check on Don and Bill," Sam said, worried that the two marines
had been outside during the blast.

"I
got it," Wang said, and Sam heard the medic scramble to his
feet.

"Here
you go, Ma'am," Biles said, pressing a wad of cloth into her
hand, which Sam used to wipe the blood from her eyes.

This
time, Biles didn't stop her from sitting up to look around although
she kept applying pressure to the wound on Sam's forehead.

"That
needs stitches," Janet said, looking at her from across the
clinic. There was blood on Janet's collar and hands, but Sam
couldn't tell how badly her friend was hurt.

Janet
was kneeling between Ogden and DeGeorge, both of whom appeared to be
coming around. Sam hoped they'd just been knocked against the back
wall by the blast without suffering severe injuries. The two
Detarians and Andersen had been standing beside the windows, and
apparently they had taken the worst of the flying glass. Biles was
bleeding heavily from two slices on her arm, and her hair, normally
pulled back neatly into a bun, had somehow freed itself to form a
wild halo of gold about her head.

Another
explosion sent Janet and Biles to the floor protecting their heads as
more of the ceiling decided to fall, and Jim Wang dove back into the
clinic through what remained of the door.

Shit,
shit, shit, Sam thought. Two marines and one medic already dead,
and a city being leveled by and unknown enemy. The explosions were
powerful enough to be naquadah laced explosives. Bombs dropped on a
city made of brick and glass. Dear god, they needed to get the hell
out of Dodge. "Christy, see to your own injuries," she told
Biles, forcing herself to her feet. "Janet, you're bleeding. Do
you need help?"

Janet
shook her head, "I'm fine."

Sam
took her at her word, looking around the clinic to make a full
assessment of their situation. All the windows in the small clinic
had been shattered, and smoke and dust obscured the view of the city
outside, but it appeared that building across the street, a small
hospital, had taken a direct hit, being leveled into a pile of
rubble. Sam shuddered. Much of their gear had been in that
building, and it had been filled with patients sick from the
infection. There'd also been thirty or forty men, women, and
children lined up in the street waiting to get their shots. "The
hospital is gone," she said quietly, wondering if it had been
deliberately targeted.

Janet
nodded, her lips pursed in anguish; Biles and Wang did not react to
her words, evidently having realized this already.

One
of the English-speaking Detarian doctors who'd been supervising
their work in the clinic was standing, blood slowly seeping through
his clothes in several spots, staring in obvious shock out the
shattered windows.

Sam
moved to stand in front of him. "Do you know who is doing this?"
she asked. "Do you know who is attacking?"

His
face twitched, but he looked away from her, not answering.

She
grasped one of his shoulders. She understood that he had probably
just lost most of his colleagues, not to mention the fact that he was
witnessing the destruction of his home city, but she needed info.
"Who is doing this?" she insisted.

He
shook his head. "We… we have no enemies. Only treaties…
treaties with the Ramaria… treaties with the Epskons… we've had
peace for generations…!"

Peace
for generations. Yes, that fit with what they knew of the Detarians.
They had not been interested in trading for weapons technology,
rather they had requested medicine and other tech. Low tech, in
fact. Sam knew they had security forces in the city, but she didn't
know if they had a standing army.

"You
should go," the doctor said in a flat voice. "Who can defend
against death dropped from the sky? You should save yourselves while
you still can."

Sam
wouldn't have minded staying to fight the bastards who were doing
this, but she had Janet and the medics to consider. They weren't
trained for front line combat, and the SGC couldn't afford to lose
their CMO. She nodded. "We move out as soon as Ogden and DeGeorge
are ready to go."

--------------------------------------

Article
II

I
will never surrender of my

own
free will. If in command I

will
never surrender the members

of
my command while they still

have
the means to resist.

--------------------------------------

The
Detarians had been lined up outside the clinic waiting for their
shots. Patchin and Croci had been providing crowd control along with
Detarian security forces. Bodies were strewn along the street, most
were dead, but a few were still alive. The Detarian doctor had
recovered enough from his shock to kneel down beside one of the
wounded victims.

Overhead,
the swollen shapes of airships further darkened the already
smoke-filled sky. The ground vibrated beneath their feet from
multiple explosions in the distance. Sam wondered if this was how it
felt in London when Nazi Germany had rained destruction upon the
city. She wondered if this was how it smelled… of smoke and burned
flesh and death.

"Don't
these idiots have any anti-aircraft weapons?" Ogden swore. His
dark skin was paler than Sam thought was healthy, but the marine
seemed to be holding it together remarkably well for someone whom had
just suffered a mild concussion.

"We've
been given no evidence that the Detarians have any flight
capabilities," Sam said. "This may be a new innovation of
their enemies."

"And
they took advantage of the disease outbreak to attack, knowing that
much of the country was incapacitated," Janet nodded.

"We
never, ever should have named this Operation Montezuma," Sam
said softly.

The
name, of course, had been a tribute to Colonel O'Neill, currently
laid up in bed with a shrapnel wound in his leg courtesy of Harry
Maybourne's booby trap. Colonel O'Neill's favorite euphemism for
diarrhea was "Montezuma's revenge," a colorful phrase he
often used to accompany dire warnings to all SGC-teams about the
perils of drinking the local water on off-world missions.

Sam
knew all about the origins of the phrase because of Daniel. Before
he went DAA (dead and ascended), Daniel had always corrected the
Colonel's pronunciation, explaining that Montezuma was really
Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin, or Moctezuma II, ruler of the Aztec empire
who lived from circa 1466-1520 A.D. A superstitious man, the emperor
mistakenly believed that the Spanish conquistador, Hernándo
Cortés, was the Aztec god, Quetzalcoatl. He'd welcomed
Cortés into his kingdom as a god, but the Spaniards, in their
greed for Aztec gold, had ultimately wrought Moctezuma's downfall.
Montezuma's revenge, supposedly, was the ancient emperor's pay-back
to any foreign invaders to his country, be they armed with weapons or
tourist dollars.

Of
course, Daniel used the story as an illustration of how easily less
advanced societies could be tricked into submission by the unfamiliar
appearance of strangers armed with superior technology. He often
pointed out that this was partly why the Goa'uld so easily ruled so
many worlds for so long.

Staring
at the destruction being wrought upon the Detarian capitol, however,
it occurred to Sam that the greater relevance to Montezuma's story,
in this case anyway, was the fact that when the Spanish invaded
Central America, they brought with them smallpox, which devastated
the native population and did more to destroy the Aztec empire than
any of the conquistador's advanced gun-powder weaponry and
sophisticated battle tactics. The disease wiped out thousands,
weakening the Aztec armies and infrastructure. It was hard to fight
a war against invaders while disease was cutting down warriors far
faster than the enemy. Unfortunately, it was clearly not an epic
unique to Earth's history.

In
the case of Detaria, it was not a conquistador who brought smallpox
to the land. Instead, it was James Wellford, a civilian member of an
SGC mining team, who didn't tell Janet that he was feeling sick to
his stomach before going off-world to replace another SGC mining team
that was due for a furlough. The Detarians were medically unprepared
to deal with the rampant and debilitating (but rarely deadly) version
of Montezuma's revenge that began to ravage their communities soon
after Mr. Wellford's arrival. Tracking the origin back to Wellford
was easy, but treating the illness was virtually impossible. So
they'd asked for Earth's help.

Being
responsible for the disaster in the first place, General Hammond
rightfully authorized Operation Montezuma. The disease was a common
bacterial infection on Earth, easily treated by antibiotics. The
mission objective was simple: determine if the usual antibiotics were
safe and effective for Detarians, and if so, supply and administer
them to the population as quickly as possible. So Janet, four
medics, and four green marines had been dispatched under Sam's
command. It should have been an easy mission, a humanitarian effort
to help their allies.

Unfortunately,
they now found themselves caught up in a war they'd had no way to
anticipate. Sadly, Sam thought they were probably witnessing the
Detarian equivalent of the fall of the Aztec empire.

"All
right," Janet said, all business. "Let's set up a triage
center. We'll use the clinic until we find a better location.
Hopefully, whoever is attacking won't bomb here twice."

Sam
hated to countermand Janet's order, but the situation was untenable.
"No," she said firmly. "The city is systematically
being destroyed from above, and the Detarians have no defense. We
retreat to the gate. If we stay here, we'll be killed or captured.
If we are going to help the Detarians militarily, we'll need
reinforcements."

"What?"
Janet asked, disbelieving. "Sam, these people need our medical
help! They just lost one of their hospitals. Take Odgen and Verhalen
and go back for reinforcements if you must, but let my medics stay
here where we can save lives."

Sam
shook her head. "No. I'm not splitting us up, and nobody is
staying here. This isn't our war, Janet. The people in those
airships aren't showing any mercy to a civilian population. We can
probably save more lives by helping Detarians flee to the SGC."

Janet
opened her mouth to protest further, but Sam stopped her. "We're
moving out," she said. "Back to the gate. That's an
order!"

"Yes,
ma'am," Janet snapped, still upset by the decision, but also a
good soldier.

The
gate in the large central city square was flattened. The DHD was
blown to smithereens. Detarians fled about randomly in a panic,
seeking shelter that their brick constructed buildings with spacious
stained-glass windows simply couldn't provide.

"Shit!"
Wang said, clearly panicking from their vantage point in a narrow
street between two government buildings. "We're stuck! We can't
get home!"

"Shut
up, Wang!" Verhalen growled, his own fear clearly evident.

"Stay
calm, everyone" Sam said evenly, motioning for them to retreat
back down the street. Taking shelter in a doorway as far from any
windows as possible, they gathered around her anxiously. Janet was
doing her best to look cool and collected, but Sam could see the
nervousness in her friend's demeanor. With explosions continuing
to rock the city, she hoped that Janet was starting to realize that
these enemies weren't going to stop until every building was damaged
or destroyed. "We just have to go to Plan B," Sam continued.

"Plan
B, ma'am?" Ogden asked. Not for the first time, she was reminded
of Lt. Tyler, the alien who had tricked them into believing he'd been
part of their team, not just in his looks, but his calm under fire,
as well. This was good; she could rely on Ogden to keep his head if
anything happened to her. Not that Janet wouldn't, but Janet didn't
have the tactical experience of a marine.

"The
DHD is inoperable, but we can still operate the gate with another
power supply."

"From
where?" Janet asked. It was an obvious question. The
technology level of the Detarians was more or less pre-industrial.
They had seen no evidence of electricity in use in the city, and
while they made clever use of chemical and mechanical energy, that
would be of limited help in powering the gate.

"The
SGC mining team has a naquadah generator," she said.

"But…
but that's in the mountains…" DeGeorge said slowly,
unconsciously glancing to the east where the dark peaks would have
been visible in the distance across the plains if the building hadn't
blocked their view. "And we have no supplies."

"The
plains won't provide much cover. And who knows what direction their
invasion force may come from," Ogden said. "They're sure
to secure the river." The river was the main means of transport
between the mountains and the capitol.

"Okay,"
Sam said. "Someone give me a Plan C, then."

"We
stay and fight," Verhalen said.

"How
much ammo do we have?" Sam said. Not much, she knew. They hadn't
come prepared to fight a war. Sure, they could take out a few
airships while they still had ammo for their P-90s, but after that?
They also had four zats, but against an invading army, it would only
be a matter of time before they were killed or captured in the city.
There had to be a better option.

No
one replied, but the silence was broken by two more explosions in the
distance and the sound of another airship approaching, flying very
low.

"Oh
god, can they see us?" Biles asked a bit wildly, pushing her
back against the wall. The others followed her example as the shadow
of the airship ran along the buildings on the other side of the
street.

"It's
heading for the central square!" Ogden said.

"It's
probably going to land," Sam grinned, an idea forming in her mind.
Still Plan B, but with a twist.

The
airship was a small troop transport, and the 15 invaders on board
were humans. They were dark-haired but fair skinned, and they wore
black boots with tan breeches trimmed in red. Sam didn't recognize
the language they spoke. All wore leather armor reinforced by metal
plates. To Sam they looked reminiscent of medieval warriors, a
perception only enhanced by their odd combination of weapons:
crossbows, spears, swords, and mesh bags of fist-sized, round,
metallic balls. Sam suspected the balls might be explosives, the
equivalent of hand-grenades perhaps. They moved with the unity and
order of well-trained shock troops, perhaps sent to secure the
government buildings facing the central square.

They
were no match for P-90s, however. Sam was proud of Janet for
volunteering to fight; with Croci and Patchin dead, they needed the
fire-power to take out the enemy soldiers before they had a chance to
toss one of their metal balls. But Sam knew what it must have cost
her friend to kill when she'd dedicated her life to saving others.

"You
okay?" she asked as they scrambled up the ramp to the dirigible
gondola.

Janet
gave her a wry smile. "Let's just get the hell out of here and
get that generator."

Sam
gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, ridiculously grateful for her
support despite their difference in priorities.

On
board the partially open-air platform beneath the airship, Sam stared
at the controls and the visible design features. It was a fairly
unsophisticated, if rather strange, setup, all things considered. It
appeared to use a combination of hot air and lighter than air gases
to achieve lift. The motor and propeller were actually mounted on
the back of the platform, with cables running from the control panel
to the rudder and elevators on the rear envelope. Though she
couldn't see them, she guessed there were two ballonets fore and
aft in separate light-than air compartments, plus a central balloon
underneath which was mounted a burner to provide heat. She wondered
if the lighter-than air compartments contained helium or hydrogen.
It definitely wasn't how she'd design a blimp, particularly if
hydrogen was involved, but she couldn't argue their effectiveness
in this situation. She didn't recognize the language or the
specific layout of the control panel, but some things were intuitive.

"Can
you do it?" Janet asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Yeah,
sure, you betcha!" she grinned. "Let's try this one," she
said, pushing the button with a propeller-like symbol. The motor
fired to life, and flames shot out of the burner. "Everybody got
their seatbelts on?" she grinned, turning to look at her crew.

Biles
spoke for all of them. "There are no seatbelts, Ma'am."

"Hold
on, then," Sam smiled. "Ogden, Verhalen, untie the moorings!"

"Yes,
Ma'am!"

The
ship lurched forward into the air.

--------------------------------------

It
took Sam a few attempts to figure out how to fill and unfill the
ballonets to keep the envelope even, but she didn't knock anyone off
their feet or send them tumbling overboard. She figured that was a
pretty good start. Under other circumstances, she might actually
have found the challenge rather fun.

"Ma'am,
permission to engage the enemy airships?" Ogden asked.

She
considered for moment. To do so would eventually give their escape
attempt away, but the P-90s had range on any weapons they'd seen
the enemies using so far. "Permission granted, Captain."

Verhalen
and Ogden shot down two troop transports and one bomb-dropping blimp
on their way out of the city. One exploded in a ball of flame
mid-air, thereby answering the question as to which lighter-than-air
gas was being used. Definitely hydrogen.

Sam
considered trying to take out more, but two of the enemy
bomb-droppers had gained altitude on them in an apparent attempt to
get above them for an attack. The bomb-droppers were lighter and
faster than the larger and heavier transport, and Verhalen and Ogden
couldn't shoot upwards without risking hitting their own balloon.
So using smoke for cover and some maneuvers that sent her crew
sliding across the deck of the transport, Sam piloted them away from
the battle. Their pursuers didn't follow once they flew out over
the plains surrounding the city, but she had no doubt that their
course towards the mountain had been duly noted.

From
the air, they could see smoke plumes rising in the distance; other
towns were under simultaneous attack. It was hard for Sam to fathom
the number of innocent people dying on this day.

"Jesus,"
Wang said from somewhere behind her. "It's like the apocalypse."

The
only response he received was the whistle of cold wind across the
deck.

--------------------------------------

It
took four hours to reach the mountains with a slight tail-wind. It
took two minutes for the engine to finally sputter to a stop when it
ran out of fuel. It took less than a minute for the floundering ship
to start losing altitude after the burner went out.

Sam
smiled, scanning the terrain. They were flying over the foothills
now, a mixture of forest and rocky slopes. "We have enough lift
that we aren't going to crash immediately. But steering is
limited, and the wind is still blowing us forward. Eventually we're
going to hit an elevation of some sort, and it would be best not to
be aboard when that happens. Even a static spark could ignite the
hydrogen in the envelope compartments. The engine and burner are
still hot, as well."

"So…
what? We jump at the last second?"

"How
much rope do we have on board?"

"Do
I want to know what you plan to use rope for?"

"Probably
not."

"That's
what I thought. I'll go check."

Sam
heard Janet moving around the back of the platform, trying not to
wake the others who were trying to get some much needed sleep. She
returned in few moments. "Apparently we lost most of the rope when
we untied the moorings."

"That's
okay," Sam said, her face breaking into a wide smile. "We aren't
going to need it after all."

"We
aren't?" Janet asked, leaning forward.

Sam
pointed ahead, where a sparkling blue lake was coming into view at
the end of a forested valley. "Sub-plan two," she said.

Janet
paled visibly. "Oh my god."

"Oh
come on, Janet. This is the part of Operation Montezuma where we get
flushed."

------------------------------------------

Sam
filled the ballonets with air to get them as low as possible over the
lake. They dropped their weapons, gear, boots, clothes, and anything
they didn't want to get wet overboard before the lake, trying to
hit clearings in the trees.

They
were still twenty to thirty feet up when they started over the water.
They jumped in twos, with the best swimmer, Wang, jumping with
DeGeorge, whose leg had been severely cut by flying glass in the
city. Sam was the last to go, and she jumped alone.

The
water was shockingly cold and deep enough that she didn't touch
bottom before struggling to the surface. The cold was biting, and
she hoped she was not too far from a shore. Unfortunately, she'd
landed nearly center in the lake, almost half a mile from the nearest
shore. Thankfully, she counted six other heads bobbing in the lake.
The first to jump, Wang and DeGeorge, were almost to the shore
already. As she watched, Verhalen gave a shout and pointed somewhere
behind her.

She
turned in the water to see the airship plow into the mountainside on
the far end of the lake. A millisecond later, it exploded in a
fireball that made Sam duck under the surface of the lake.

Shit,
shit, shit, that had been close. She came up again, watching as the
fire started to ignite the trees. Out of the frying pan, into the
fire, she thought wryly. Slowly, she started to swim to the
shore, hoping that Janet would think to send the others to rescue
their gear before the fire spread much further. At least the wind
was blowing it away from them at the moment.

-----------------------------------

Sam
allowed a campfire that evening since the forest fire was creating
enough smoke and light to effectively mask it from anyone in the
distance. They'd zatted fish for dinner, and now sat around the
fire as they cooked.

Verhalen
and Biles were keeping first watch; DeGeorge was getting her leg
tended by Wang. They all looked bloodied, banged up, and somewhat
worse for wear, but they were still alive, and Sam would take that.
Even better, if she remembered the coordinates correctly, they were
only about five miles from the mining encampment. She'd been
unable to raise anyone on the radio, but it was possible that the
terrain was inhibiting communications.

"Major
Carter," Ogden said, looking at her intensely from the other side
of the fire.

"Yes,
Captain?"

"I
hope you don't mind me saying this, ma'am, but I'd been told on
the base that you like to blow things up."

"Really?"
Sam asked, not too surprised.

"Yes,
ma'am. But I didn't believe it until today."

Sam
looked at the grimy faces grinning at her from around the fire and
felt, perhaps for the first time, the full weight of what it meant to
be a leader. She understood more clearly now why Colonel O'Neill
did some of the things he did to protect his team. She knew that she
would do anything in her power to get these people home again. "I
do what I have to do," she said, smiling. She nodded at them.
"You all did very well today. We make a good team."

It
was hard to believe that her words would have such a profound effect,
but she could tell that they meant a lot to the young officers.
Ogden beamed, and even DeGeorge sat up a bit straighter. Janet
caught her eye, and she could read her friend's approval.

"We
move out first light tomorrow, if the fire will let us," she
said. "The mining camp should be five miles that way," she
pointed to the northeast. Keep your eyes open for enemies. Also
watch for UAVs. We were due for contact with the SGC this evening.
They may try to send a UAV to do recon once they see what's
happened to the city, and they may send it to the mining camp to
check on our people there."

This
thought seemed to cheer the group considerably, and they spent a
pleasant evening tending to their wounds and remaining equipment.

------------------------------------

She
woke to somebody shaking her shoulder in the dark. "Sam?"

She
groaned as her body protested consciousness. The slice on her
forehead felt on fire. "Shhhh," Janet whispered, her hand
partially covering Sam's mouth. "We hear airships approaching,
but we can't see them. There's too much smoke from the fires."

Sam
sat up, sniffing. "The wind has shifted." The smoke was blowing
down the valley now. That meant the fire wouldn't be far behind.

"This
is bad, isn't it?" Janet asked.

"This
is bad," Sam confirmed. The safest place to be in a forest fire
was in areas that had already burned. Unfortunately, areas that had
already burned would also be exposed to the airships flying overhead.
They needed to move while darkness still provided them with some
cover. "Time to go," she said.

--------------------------------------

The
fires provided enough ambient light to make their way slowly in the
darkness, but the ground was treacherous, and they had to avoid hot
spots that were still burning. The smoke swirled around them,
burning their lungs.

It
was Ogden on point who first spotted the enemy coming over a rise
ahead of them. He opened fire instinctively taking out the front
four, but it was impossible to tell how many might have taken cover
behind the slope. Overhead, the sound of an airship changed
directions, and Sam knew that the weapons flash had been spotted.

Normally,
she'd try to gain the high ground, but that would be a dubious
choice with airships overhead. Instead, she ordered them back to a
defensible rock outcropping at the base of a low cliff. As they ran,
a bomb exploded in the unburned forest to their left sending
splinters of wood raining down upon them. DeGeorge cried out and
stumbled, swearing, but Wang and Verhalen picked her up and carried
her between them.

Sam
fired a few rounds in the direction of the airship, hoping to get
lucky. Beyond expectation, triple explosions lit the night sky. As
burning debris fell on the forest, Sam hazarded a glance behind them
and saw dozens of enemy soldiers coming over a far ridge. Somehow
they'd managed to run into an enemy platoon, possibly an entire
company.

"This
is very bad, isn't it?" Janet panted beside her.

"This
is very, very bad," Sam agreed.

--------------------------------------

They
made their stand in the rocks at the base of the cliff. It had been
a slaughter until the enemy determined their range. The odds evened
up mid-morning when they started firing crossbow bolts that contained
explosives in the metal tips. They didn't need accuracy, just
range, and the rock provided all the shrapnel they needed. Wang was
the first to go down with shrapnel in his shoulder. DeGeorge was
next, impossibly adding a piece of rock to her collection of leg
wounds that already included wood splinters and shards of glass. If
the lieutenant survived the mission, Sam knew she'd become a living
SGC legend, but that was small comfort in the face of so much present
agony. Terrell Ogden ran out of ammo first, then Janet, Biles, and
Verhalen. The sun was on a downhill track when Sam's P-90 finally
clicked.

Two
airships floated overhead, and a hundred enemy soldiers still
encircled their position. Her team was covered in black soot, and
they were exhausted, thirsty, hungry, and hurting.

She
met Janet's eyes.

"We're
fucked, aren't we?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah,"
Sam said simply.

--------------------------------------

Article
III

If
I am captured I will

continue
to resist by all means

available.
I will make every

effort
to escape and aid others to

escape.
I will accept neither

parole
nor special favors from

the
enemy.

--------------------------------------

They
were given water and stale bread before being hogtied and blindfolded
for the night. The next morning they were tossed on an airship.
Apparently their enemies were taking no chances that their prisoners
might try to escape. Or perhaps their officers were taking no
chances that their own troops might try to take retribution for their
many losses. In any case, Sam and her companions found themselves
lying on the platform of another transport. This time,
unfortunately, they were joined by the SGC mining team and two
Detarian miners.

The
commander of the mining team was a young lieutenant named Hernandez.
Sam was impressed by the story of their heroic fight at the mining
camp; two of them were civilian contractors without a military
background. Apparently they, too, had fought until they ran out of
ammo. Hernandez had done a good job keeping his team together and
alive under extreme circumstances. Sam made a mental note to
recommend him to General Hammond for a commendation.

"Have
you been interrogated?" Sam asked.

"All
of us have been roughed up, Ma'am, but nothing serious,"
Hernandez told her. "But we've only been held for a day."

Sam
nodded. "Hopefully it won't come to this, but all of you must
remember that we're not allowed to divulge anything but name, rank,
service number, and date of birth. Do not reveal iris codes or
Earth's address. Do not give them information about our weapons,
tactics, capabilities, or equipment. Escape if you can."

"With
the DHD blown to hell, what would it matter?" Verhalen asked.

The
question annoyed Sam, but she could understand the man's logic. "We
don't know their capabilities." She snorted. "Hell, we
don't even know who they are or what they call themselves. For all
we know, they may have their own stargate and off-world allies that
could threaten Earth."

"They
are Epskons," one of the Detarians said in heavily accented
English. "In the past, they were our allies in the wars against
the Ramarians. But all three of our countries have been at peace for
many years."

"Well,
something sure changed," Hernandez said. "What do you want to
bet the Ramarians are the next to go?"

"I
would not doubt it," the Detarian said. "They have hid these
invasion plans from us well. There is much trade between our
countries, but their government never indicated unhappiness with our
treaties. Since you have improved our mining techniques, we have
been able to supply them more naquadah than before."

Sam's
heart sank. No, the Epskons wouldn't have wanted to tip their
hand. They would have put on a smiling front while building an army
of airships and bombs made from the naquadah they were getting from
the Detarians. They knew the Detarians would be helpless against
such an attack. But why bother continuing to trade for something
when you could simply take what you wanted? The mines were probably
one of their main objectives. No wonder there'd been so many troops
in the mountains. They'd probably heard the blimp explode and had
come to investigate.

She
opened her mouth to speak, but a quick kick from a guard ended their
conversation.

--------------------------------------

Article
IV

If
I become a prisoner of war, I

will
keep faith with my fellow

prisoners.
I will give no

information
or take part in any

action
which might be harmful

to
my comrades. If I am senior, I

will
take command. If not, I will

obey
the lawful orders of those

appointed
over me and will back

them
up in every way.

--------------------------------------

They
were taken to a location just outside the Detarian capitol in what
might once have been a warehouse complex of some sort. The buildings
were lacking the expansive windows traditionally found in Detarian
buildings, giving them a brooding and foreboding look. Sam estimated
that some three-hundred people, many of them Detarian security
forces, were being held in the various buildings and surrounding
stockades. The complex had been hastily converted to a temporary
prison, complete with something resembling razor-wire fences and
guard units armed with crossbows patrolling the perimeters with dogs.

The
SGC personnel were separated from the Detarians, and once their legs
were untied, they were escorted to a prison area inside one of the
buildings. Here, the guards forced Sam, Christy, Janet, and Lara
away from the men.

"I'm
the commanding officer," Sam told the guard who seemed to be in
charge before the men could be led away. "I request that you keep
us all together."

One
of the guards punched her stomach, and Sam doubled over, gasping
against the pain. "Ogden, you tell them that if they wish to talk,
they talk to me. Do you understand? They talk to me."

"Yes
ma'am," the marine nodded, swallowing.

Sam
smiled as she straightened, then kicked the face of the guard who had
punched her.

---------------------------------------

Perhaps
it hadn't been the brightest idea she'd ever had, she decided as
they stripped off her shirt and boots and placed her bruised and
beaten body in a stockade that locked around both her hands and feet.
She'd had a vague notion about ensuring that if somebody was going
to be raped or interrogated, it would be her. That was what Colonel
O'Neill had always done in similar situations. He'd piss off
their captors with his sarcasm and disrespect, and make himself the
target.

But
now she had to face the consequences of her actions. She breathed
deeply, trying to suppress her fear now that she'd accomplished her
goal. Her body was already hurting badly, and she honestly didn't
know how much more she could take.

She
couldn't bear the thought of Janet or Christy or Lara being raped.
She couldn't bear the thought of the miners being tortured, or even
the two marines on their first mission. It was her job. Her
responsibility. Since these people didn't appear to speak or
understand English, she'd had to rely on physical actions. Surely
Colonel O'Neill would have done the same.

At
least with her butt on a hard, slightly elevated platform and her
hands and feet locked in the stocks, it didn't appear that she was
going to be raped. Not right away, anyway. But when a hard-faced
man entered the room with a whip in one hand, a cane in the other,
and a frightened looking Detarian man beside him, it became apparent
that she was going to be tortured.

"He…
he wants to know who you are," the Detarian man stammered as the
hard-faced man stepped forward. "He wants to know where you're
from. He wants to know how many more of you are out there." He
paused, his lower lip trembling. "He wants to know a lot of
things."

"Tell
him I won't tell him anything," Sam said defiantly.

The
Detarian winced, but translated her words.

The
interrogator smiled and spoke.

"He
said, 'Good, I like a challenge.'"

The
cane hissed through the air, striking the soles of her exposed feet,
and she cried out at the unexpected agony of it.

--------------------------------------

Article
V

When
questioned, should I

become
a prisoner of war, I am

required
to give name, rank

service
number, and date of

birth.
I will evade answering

further
questions to the utmost of

my
ability. I will make no oral

or
written statements disloyal to

my
country and its allies or

harmful
to their cause.

--------------------------------------

366349.

366349.

Those
six numbers would haunt Janet Fraiser forever.

366349.
Sam's service number.

"Samantha
Carter. Rank, Major," Sam muttered, her head shifting
restlessly in Janet's lap. "366349. 12/29/68. 366349." It
was as if the numbers gave her comfort in her delirium.

She
felt Sam's flushed cheek, trying to judge her temperature. It hadn't
taken long for infection and fever to set in. Sam had gone downhill
quickly, the lack of rest, food, and water having taken its toll even
before the brutal torture.

"366349,"
Sam muttered again.

Janet's
eyes filled with tears, not for the first time that long night…
tears of anguish and of pride. She knew that Sam hadn't told their
captors anything, even after two days of torture. They'd flayed the
skin off her feet. They'd whipped her back into a bloody mess. But
always strong, always proud, Samantha Carter had given them nothing
more than what their military code of conduct allowed: her name, her
rank, her service number, and her date of birth.

Janet
wondered if she could be as strong under the same circumstances. She
wondered if she would be next. Looking into the frightened faces of
Biles and DeGeorge, she knew they were thinking the same thing.

"God,
Sam," she whispered, wishing desperately she had some water to
give her friend. Water to keep her fever under control. Water to
keep her hydrated. "Please, Sam," Janet whispered, running
her fingers through her friend's sweat-matted hair. "Don't give
up. You've got to fight this infection. I know you can fight this.
You know that General Hammond isn't going to leave us stranded
here."

She
prayed it was true. Prayed that they'd hurry. Time was running
out. Sam needed antibiotics desperately. For that matter, DeGeorge
wasn't much better off; her leg, too, was infected and needed
surgery.

Janet
couldn't imagine what she'd do if she lost Sam here in this dank
cell, light years from home, on what was supposed to be an easy
mission. She couldn't imagine how she'd explain it to Cassie or
General Hammond or Colonel O'Neill. The frustration of knowing
what she needed to do to save her friend's life, but being unable
to do it was torture of another sort.

DeGeorge
scooted closer, placing her hand on Sam's leg. "There's lots
of things left to blow up in the galaxy," she said. "You have a
lot yet to do, ma'am. You have to keep fighting."

"Blow
up freaking Epskons," Sam muttered without opening her eyes, and
Janet could have shouted with joy.

Sam
was still fighting.

--------------------------------------

An
odd noise penetrated Sam's fevered dreams. She couldn't identify
it, and it puzzled her, the mystery of it slowly pulling her awake.
She opened her eyes. It was dark, and she was lying on her side, her
head cushioned… on somebody's leg. She turned her head,
flinching at the pain it caused her back. Janet's leg. Her head
was resting on Janet's leg. And the odd noise was Janet snoring.

Sam
smiled to herself. Janet Fraiser snored. Who would have guessed?
As she watched, Janet snorted awake, eyes widening as she met Sam's
gaze.

"Still
here?" Sam asked.

Janet
smiled softly. "Yeah, afraid so. How do you feel?"

"Been
better," Sam admitted. Truthfully, she couldn't decide if she
was burning up or freezing to death. And every inch of her body
hurt.

"I
bet."

"DeGeorge?
Biles?"

"Still
here, too."

"The
guys?"

"No
word."

Sam
nodded, eyes closing.

"Stay
with us, Sam," Janet said seriously.

"Okay,"
Sam said. She fought the darkness a moment longer; there was
something else she needed to say. She forced her eyes back open.
"Thanks for being my friend, Janet," she said. Now she
could rest. With a sigh, she let herself slip back to sleep.

For
the first time in her professional career, Janet Fraiser could not
stop her tears from flowing.

--------------------------------------

They
gave her a drink that numbed the pain. They washed her face and
hair. They forced socks and slippers onto her swollen feet, and they
helped her dress in her SGA jacket, now clean and mended. They then
tied her to a chair in a small room in the remains of one of the
government buildings near the central city square.

She
fought valiantly to stay conscious when they left her alone, but
failed. She woke to a room full of people, Epskonian officers and
one Detarian woman whom Sam thought she'd met before. She'd been the
Mayor's aide, perhaps, one of the first group of Detarians who'd
visited Earth and learned English.

"Major
Carter," the woman said. "They want you to tell them that you've
been treated well."

"Tell
who?" she somehow had the presence of mind to ask.

"Your
people. They've sent a probe. It's coming here."

A
MALP. General Hammond had sent a MALP, and they were bringing it
here. Sam struggled to focus. The Epskons wanted her to lie and
tell them that they were being treated well.

One
of the officers caught the woman's arm and gestured at Sam,
speaking rapidly.

The
woman nodded. "He says that if you don't do what they want,
they'll kill your companions."

Sam
had no intention of lying, but she nodded anyway. Let them believe
she'd capitulate.

The
officer looked suspicious but started speaking again to his people.
At some point, another guard entered carrying a P-90 and a zat.

A
flurry of activity announced the arrival a MALP surrounded by an
escort of guards. Two of the guards pointed crossbows directly at
her, a clear warning that she shouldn't try anything suspicious.

The
camera on the MALP pivoted to point at her. "Major Carter,"
General Hammond's voice said. "It is good to see you. Have you
been treated well?"

The
Detarian translated his words, but Sam didn't wait for her to catch
up. She nodded deliberately, and said, "No sir," slurring the
words so they could easily be mistaken for a "yes," to an
untrained ear. "I've been tortured."

The
Detarian woman hesitated for the barest instant before translating,
but the Epskons did not react to whatever it was she said. Sam
breathed a sigh of relief. The woman was smart, and she was playing
along.

"What
about the rest of our people, Major?" General Hammond asked.

"The
DHD was blown up. Anderson, Croci, and Patchin are dead; the others
are being held in a prison camp on the outskirts of the east side of
the city, guards armed with crossbows, swords, dogs, and explosives.
DeGeorge is not mobile, but the others are in good health as far as I
know, General."

The
Epskons officer looked unhappy at the length of this exposition, but
apparently he was satisfied by whatever it was that the Detarian
translator provided him. He stepped in front of Sam, P-90 in hand,
addressing the camera directly.

"You
see we are true to our word, and your soldiers have been well
treated," he said through the translator. "We are willing to
negotiate a trade for their release. We want 50 of these weapons plus
ammunition in exchange for each male prisoner." He traded the P-90
for the zat. "We want 50 of these weapons in exchange for each of
the women."

"I
understand," General Hammond said. "I will have to clear the
request through my superiors, but I'm certain we can reach an
agreement."

The
officer nodded, looking pleased.

"Hang
on, Major," General Hammond said.

Sam
frowned in bemusement as a panel on the side of the MALP slid open
and an armed Goa'uld shock grenade rolled onto the floor.

"Sweet!"
she grinned before the room exploded in white.

--------------------------------------

Once
again, Sam woke to pain and confusion. Somebody was lifting her in
their arms. She groaned in protest.

"I
am very sorry, Major Carter," a familiar voice said.

"Teal'c?"
she whispered, opening her eyes. She saw nothing but darkness, then
remembered the grenade. The blindness was only temporary.

"Indeed,
it is I," the big man answered.

"Janet?
The guys?"

"Three
teams have been dispatched to affect their escape from the prison,"
Teal'c assured her. "I am taking you directly to the Stargate."

"You
have a reactor?"

"Indeed.
Jonas Quinn is connecting it. SG-5, SG-6, and SG-7 are holding the
city center for us."

Sam
smiled. "I knew you'd come for us."

"I
am sorry we did not arrive sooner," Teal'c said seriously. "We
had to recall several teams to mount the attack, and General Hammond
wanted to ensure that you were still alive before committing us."

Sam
nodded, content in the knowledge that Teal'c would get her and the
others home safely. "Thanks, Teal'c," she whispered, leaning
her head against his shoulder.

"You
are very welcome, Major Carter," Teal'c replied.

--------------------------------------

Article
VI

I
will never forget that I am an

American,
fighting for freedom,

responsible
for my actions, and

dedicated
to the principles which

made
my country free. I will

trust
in my God and in the

United
States of America

--------------------------------------

"You
need to eat, Carter," Colonel O'Neill told her, pushing the cup
of blue jello closer. He was still on crutches, but no longer
bed-ridden. This was a good thing, because the infirmary was a
crowded place.

DeGeorge
was in the bed beside her, infamous leg now elevated. Siler had
promised her specially designed leg armor for her next trip through
gate, and Colonel O'Neill had suggested awarding her leg a purple
heart of its own.

Ogden
had been tortured after Sam, and his feet, too, had been severely
caned. They would both be out of commission for a while.

Biles,
Verhalen, Janet, Wang, and Hernandez all sported bandages of one sort
or another, badges of honor from a mission gone bad. The operation
had been a disaster, but thanks to a timely rescue, most of them had
made it back alive, and that was really all that mattered to Sam this
time. Detaria had been destroyed, a disaster in part their own
making, and partly the fault of their relationship with the SGC, but
sometimes the greatest victory was just making it out alive, living
to fight another battle another day on another world. Their job was
to keep the battleground away from Earth, and they couldn't do that
if they were dead.

"Carter,"
the Colonel said sternly, poking at the jello cup. "Don't make
me make it an order."

"Nothing,"
she said, hoping she could catch Janet's eye before it was too
late.

"Carter!"
he said sternly.

"Sir!
It's just..." she could feel her cheeks burning. "I must have
contracted…" Good grief, how could this be happening with all
the antibiotics Janet was pumping into her? "It's Montezuma's
revenge, sir."

The
Colonel's eyes widened, and he twisted in his chair, searching for
the petite doctor. "Janet!"

end

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